A Sparkling Green
“Do you know who could lift this?
“Do you know who could jump dis high?
Hulk! For real.”
“Red Hulk is stronger than Green Hulk but not as strong as Rainbow Hulk.”
“Hulk Smash could lift up the whole Montreal! It’s true. IT’S TRUE MOMMA!” My agreement is required.
She keeps asking me to draw Hulk Smash so I do.
If I talk about how much she’s growing or compliment her on a new challenge she’s conquered, she turns it right back to the Hulk:
“Yeah! I’m getting big just like Hulk Smash!”
“You know who’s not scared of jumping off trees? Hulk Smash.”
Despite having neither book, television show nor pajamas featuring The Incredible Hulk, my three-year-old is obsessed with him. Farrah talks about Hulk Smash every day and with great reverence – so much so that he is the one who reminds her to close the closet door.
He also gets her to eat spinach via these Hulk Smash Muffins so she too can become big and strong.
I know momentum when I feel it.
Like most things that three-year-olds latch on to, I find this obsession charming and adorable, baffling origins aside. Her older brother knows about The Incredible Hulk of course, but only mentions him occasionally and doesn’t give a fig about closing the closet door. He will eat muffins though, but knows they’re just regular muffins. He is six-and-a-half after all.
I think it was Mother’s Day when I re-read Farrah’s Birth Story (because if you’re gonna read a birth story, it might as well be on Mother’s Day), and was struck by these words:
“Our Midwife arrives. I can’t even acknowledge her. The screaming becomes insufficient. I am driven to destroy as my body is feeling destroyed. I send everything on top of the toilet tank flying into the shower wall. I smash the toilet bowl brush against the ceramic floor. I shake the pedestal sink from its base. I am the Incredible Hulk, caged.”
Farrah Star as Bruce Banner, summoning the Hulk so that she could be born. Incredible.
“My body throws itself from hands-and-knees to sitting back on my heels, clenching my entire backside. Then my body climbs itself up the wall to a standing position. I am screaming as loud as I can for as long as I can.
I feel the baby move down and out.
Then back up.
Then down and out.
Then back up.
Then I understand I can get her out and it will be done. I understand she is ready. I understand everything. I will bear my child.
So I do.”
The connection between myself and my daughter is undeniable but sometimes I forget there is also a magic between us; something indefinable. Currently, that something is a sparkling green and stronger than anything in the whole wide world.